


Ruts

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Moresomes, PWP, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Just a big ol’ pile.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/The Fellowship of the Ring
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	Ruts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He arches back as he screams out, and Legolas nuzzles into his face, trying to soothe him, but Aragorn’s cock is so _huge_ that there’s no coming down from the high it gives him. Frodo’s stretched so far beyond his limit. He can feel smaller hands threading through his hair, petting him and drawing him forward—he’s pulled against Sam’s mouth and surrenders to it, because all Frodo wants to is to be _filled_. He moans happily as Sam’s tongue slides between his lips and licks him out, while Legolas sweetly kisses his cheek and Aragorn thrusts deeper inside him. He started in Aragorn’s lap, but now he can’t tell whose thighs he’s sitting on and whose are thrown over his own—there are so many sets of hands on him, pawing at him, touching him, _caressing_ him, that he can’t identify them all. He feels the scratch of coarse hair at his side and thinks Gimli might be stroking his hips. Boromir’s seed is still slicked across his face. Legolas licks it away. Aragorn whispers in his ear, “You are doing very well, Frodo. _Very_ well.”

Frodo whines. He doesn’t know where Merry and Pippin have gotten off to. He tries to open his hazy eyes but can only see Sam—his darling Sam—kissing him so tenderly. Aragorn’s thrusts are rougher but not unkind. Legolas has the gentle grace of an elf. The bruises from Boromir’s fingers still litter his hips, and Gimli’s thick hands rub at his chest with a familiar ferocity. It’s all so overwhelming and impossible to keep track. Frodo has no idea how many times he’s come or how many more he needs to. He just knows that he _needs to_. It’s the ring, he thinks. It’s slowing him down. It’s corrupting him. All he wants is _sex_ , and his company obliges him.

It must be affecting them too. It must be. They can’t all want him this badly, as badly as he wants them. It can’t just be that they’re a group of grown men, lost out in the wilderness, away from any prying eyes and still with their own urges. They’re protected by the side of one rocky ledge and a smattering of trees. Frodo thinks it was raining when they started, but it isn’t anymore. It’s still night, the stars still out, none of them sleeping. Sam brokenly groans his name and thrusts against his hip—he can feel how hard Sam is and blindly reaches down for it. He strokes it as best he can while Aragorn rocks him back and forth. Sam hums gratefully and kisses the side of his mouth. 

He’s pulled over for Boromir’s tongue, which he accepts as readily as Sam’s. He likes the differing sensations—the tickle of Boromir’s stubble and the heat of his tongue. In the corner of his eye, Frodo can see Legolas leaning over and thinks he might be kissing Aragorn. Sam cries out—Gimli might be inside him. Somewhere through the fog, he can hear Merry moaning and Pippin panting. Everything’s so tight, wet, hot—all heavy breathing and frantic slapping sounds and the stench of sweat and sex. Frodo doesn’t know how much more he can take. 

Aragorn spills inside him and just keeps right on going. A hand reaches around to cup his cock. Teeth scrape at his ear. Aragorn hisses into it in a tongue Frodo shouldn’t understand, “ _Come for me, precious._ ”

Frodo shudders with delight and obeys.


End file.
